Tattoo Therapy
by freakwithacamera
Summary: Bellamy's a war vet with a PTSD and a thing for tattoos, Murphy's the artist working on his latest tattoo, a memorial piece for a fallen friend. Getting a tattoo is like therapy for Bellamy, and it doesn't hurt that his artist is both stunning and flirtatious, Bellamy wished he knew if Murphy was actually interested in him or if he was just naturally like that.


The bell above the door to the shop rang as Bellamy entered, the woman behind the front counter looking up from the book in front of her and giving him a questioning glance. Bellamy gave her a small smile as he approached the desk.

"Hey, Emori, I've got an appointment for three?" It was a little before that, but he liked getting there early, it gave him a chance to stare at all the artwork that covered the walls. Usually there was something that wasn't there before and he'd spend his time waiting staring at the pictures, memorized by the tattoos.

"Murphy's almost finished, he should be out in a bit. Take a seat," she told him, gesturing towards the old leather couch and chairs that served as their waiting area, before turning back to the art book in front of her, flipping through the pages while she waited for her own client.

Bellamy nodded and took a seat in one of the chairs, his eyes searching the wall in front of him hoping for something he hadn't seen before. He'd been here several times already and he always felt a little disappointed when there wasn't anything new to look at. That seemed to be the case this time and Bellamy frowned, reaching over to grab one of the art books he'd been through many times before.

As great as Emori's art was, Murphy was the only artist Bellamy ever saw from this place, and the only one he'd let tattoo him for the past year. Half of the tattoos he now had were Murphy's work. He was a skilled, his art was amazing, and Bellamy had found himself drawn to it the second he'd first opened the book. It was beautiful, all gentle colors and tiny, near perfectionist details that had had Bellamy transfixed for the better part of an hour as he went through each page of the book only to look up and come face to face with the artist himself who'd given Bellamy a self satisfied smirk and asked if he liked it. Bellamy had fumbled for an answer, Murphy was a work of art himself, Bellamy was sure of it, but he'd left with one of Murphy's pieces on his left arm even though he hadn't even planned on getting one that day.

He'd gone back multiple times since then, enough times to learn about Murphy, how he'd spent years doodling on his assignments and had barely scraped by with Cs in high school and had gone to college to get an art degree but had never been able to find anything that called to him as much as tattooing did so he eventually graduated and started interning under one of the city's better artists before eventually coming home and opening up his own shop with his best friend.

He'd tried to explain to Bellamy why tattooing meant so much to him, but Bellamy had spent the whole time staring at his lips and had missed most of it, but he'd understood the general gist of it. Paintings were nice and Murphy enjoyed making them, but paintings got stuck on a wall and eventually stopped being appreciated and just became a part of the furniture, a fixture in someone's living room that meant no more than the coffee table. Tattoos were living art, permanent pieces of himself that he could put on someone else. He loved that part of it, loved knowing there were people walking around with his art on their skin. He also hated the idea that every tattoo had to mean something important to be worth getting. Sometimes pretty things were just pretty things and that was okay. Bellamy had agreed.

In the time he'd been coming here, Bellamy had not only fallen for the art, but for the artist, as well. They traded stories about their lives, Murphy's cats and Bellamy's dog, college tales, failed attempts at romance that went terribly wrong and were only funny looking back, and war stories. Murphy always listened intently when Bellamy spoke, like he was memorizing the words, and he remembered what Bellamy said even if Bellamy himself didn't.

Bellamy had memorized every detail of the artist's face. His nearly too long hair, the sharp turn of his nose, the icy blue of his eyes, and that annoying smirk that seemed to be permanently fixed on his face.

He was in over his head with this one and he knew it. If he could only work up the courage to ask Murphy out, but Bellamy figured it would be easier to complete basic training with both his hands tied behind his back and lead weights in his pants than it would be to ask out the sarcastic, flirtatious, absolutely stunning John Murphy who took his art a little too seriously and had a smirk that drove Bellamy mad. He would really like to just once wipe it off his fucking face, preferably by shoving him against the wall and making out with him. But Bellamy hadn't quite worked up the nerve yet. He was afraid Murphy's flirting wasn't serious and he'd only reject him and everything would get awkward between them and then Bellamy wouldn't be able to come back and he really didn't want that to happen.

So, so far, out of all of his visits and tattoos, he hadn't asked Murphy out. Maybe if he was lucky, Murphy would ask him out.

He was there today to get his most recent tattoo finished. It had taken four visits so far, but Murphy had told him last time that this time should be the last, so he was a bit excited to see the finished product. It was a memorial piece for one of his friends that hadn't made it home after the war, Maya Vie. It wasn't anything too creative, just a standard Battlefield Cross with white poppies springing up out of the ground around the boots. It was pretty big, it took up most of his right arm. Murphy had done it so beautifully and Bellamy thought Maya would have liked it.

"You're early," Murphy's voice interrupted his thoughts before he could start to lose himself in her memory.

"I'm always early," He replied, standing up.

"I know. It's like you can't wait to see me or something. Honestly, I think it was a little desperate if I didn't like you so much," Murphy smirked at him and Bellamy felt the familiar urge to shove him against a wall.

"Or maybe I just want my tattoo finished so I don't have to see you again," Bellamy shrugged.

"I'd believe it if that wasn't like the billionth tattoo you've made me do. Face it, you're kinda in love with me." Murphy turned and walked towards one of the rooms in the back where his station was set up.

"Maybe it's the art I'm in love with and I just tolerate you for it," Bellamy said as he followed him through the shop.

"I'm sure. Sit," Murphy instructed, pointing at the chair as he began gathering up his tools and getting them laid out on his little table. "Now, you can either roll up your sleeve or you can take your shirt off, it's up to you, but if I get a vote, I want your clothes off. Maybe you should take your pants off, too. You know, for good measure."

Bellamy rolled his eyes at him and pulled his shirt over his head, baring some of his previous tattoos to the world. Some of them were Murphy's artwork that had no particular meaning behind them other than the fact that they were Murphy's. He liked giving Murphy free reign, he was never disappointed because he loved all of Murphy's work, but Murphy tried hard to personalize them, so Bellamy had a variety of old weapons from different eras decorating his skin -his favorite being an old Roman spear with dog tags hanging from it- while others were symbols of warriors or protection from various mythologies.

He'd already told Murphy about all of his tattoos that had meaning save for the one currently being worked on. Murphy had listened and asked to see most of them. He'd traced most of them with his fingers leaving Bellamy shivering and feeling the ghost of Murphy's fingertips for days afterwards.

There was a dove, a symbol of peace and victory, on his hip, the head just peaking over his jeans. His left shoulder was done up to look like armor, because of all the battles he'd fought and he'd explained to Murphy while he'd been getting it done that it was because he felt like he was always ready for battle, always on edge, waiting for the next one to come up. He had an aurora of colors underneath his heart for his mother and his sister's name across his heart in a delicate font with strong, curling lines. Apolaki, the Filipino sun god and patron of warriors, stood proudly on his left calf. Even though he'd never gotten to meet his father, who had been a soldier himself, he'd done what he could to learn about his heritage, learn the stories, and that particular tattoo meant a lot to him. He had the constellation of Orion on his side because he'd spent so many years stargazing, falling in love with the stars, and Orion was the first constellation he'd ever learned.

Bellamy studied Murphy as he set up his work space, taking in the few tattoos he could see, Murphy's sleeves and the beginning of something that peaked out above his shirt collar. Murphy's neck was bare, though, and he'd told Bellamy that he didn't like neck tattoos, there was no particular reason behind it, though, but Bellamy couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to leave marks all over Murphy's skin.

"So, today there's just a little bit of shading left to do on the helmet and boots, a few minor details, and the coloring on the flowers, then we're done with it. Should be finished in a couple of hours." Murphy told him as he set up his ink pots. "Why poppies, anyway?" Bellamy hadn't told him much about this tattoo and Murphy had given him plenty of chances to tell him on his own like he did with all the others, but so far he hadn't and Murphy was curious so he would pry a bit. If Bellamy didn't want to talk about it, Murphy trusted he'd say so.

Bellamy was quiet for a moment while he watched Murphy, not sure how to respond. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell Murphy, he did, he just hated the feelings of guilt that came with the story. He kept thinking over and over that he should have done something different, should have made sure she was safe, should have done something, but logically, there was nothing he could have done. Nothing he would have done would have saved her, but the guilt still ate at him sometimes.

"White poppies mean peace, remembrance, and the end of war. They grew on the graves of WWI soldiers, that's where the meaning comes from." Bellamy didn't say that he still brought a bouquet of white poppies to her grave every year. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, "Her name was Maya. It was my first tour and she was one of the people in my squad. She was brave, braver than most of us. This tiny little girl who believed in peace and talked about finding a way to compromise even in the middle of a bloody war. You'd never have thought much of her, hell, in the beginning, I didn't think much of her, but she grew on me. She saved my ass at least half a dozen times." And still, Bellamy hadn't been able to save her. "I always thought she was a bit naive, personally, at least, in the beginning, but she fought well and never gave up. It never got to her the way it got to us, you know? It wasn't naivety, it was hope, and that hope made her strong. She wouldn't have had trouble readjusting when she got home, I don't think."

Murphy waited until he had the needle pressed against Bellamy's skin, the familiar sting comforting Bellamy in a way most things couldn't anymore. It was therapeutic, getting another tattoo, something about the process relaxed him and each new tattoo made him feel like he was slowly coming back to himself. Sometimes he'd lie awake at night and trace their lines, remembering the sessions that came with them, the jokes Murphy had told or the stories he'd listened to and he felt a bit more at peace.

"But you did." It wasn't a question, Murphy knew too much for it to be a question, but Bellamy answered it anyway.

"Yeah, a bit." He didn't tell Murphy about the meds on his bedside table and how they were the only thing that kept him functioning most days or the nightmares that kept him up at least four nights a week. Instead, he said, "It's not easy, readjusting. You come home and everything's the same but it feels different because you're different. Everyone calls you a hero but you don't understand it because all you can think about are the things you've done, the lives you've taken, and all the blood on your hands. It makes you wonder if the protesters are right and you really are a monster."

"You're not a monster." Murphy said it like it was a fact, like he knew it was true.

"No?" Bellamy almost laughed but he didn't because he didn't want to make Murphy screw up, but it was funny to him. What did Murphy know? Murphy hadn't been there with him, didn't know about the things he'd done, the things that kept him up at night.

"No." Murphy's voice was firm but gentle, like he was trying to make Bellamy believe it. "You fought, you survived, you came home. I might not agree with the reasons behind the war but I don't believe for a second that you're a monster for fighting it."

"Then what am I?" Bellamy hated how lost he sounded when he asked. "Cause I'm sure as hell not a hero."

"You're a man. You're human. You're alive." That was all that mattered. None of Bellamy's stories had made Murphy believe he was anything less than human. He wasn't a monster, he was just a man who had fought and returned home and needed a little help readjusting. That was all.

Bellamy snorted but he couldn't deny Murphy's words made him feel a little bit better. If he trusted anyone's judgment, it was Murphy's. "Okay, Socrates. You're too damn wise for your own good."

Murphy shook his head and smiled, "Tell that to the Spongebob tattoo on my ass."

"I don't believe you have one." Murphy had told him he was very picky about the tattoos he got, they all looked amazing and he'd drawn half of them himself. Three fourths of the other half were done by Emori.

"Wanna see it?" Murphy asked.

"Are you offering to let me see your ass? Cause I'm not gonna say no to that," Bellamy half-joked. Murphy wore tight pants, Bellamy happened to stare a lot. He knew Murphy had a great ass and there was no way he was going to say no to seeing it. Plus, he was a little curious about the Spongebob tattoo.

Murphy smirked up at him as he set his tattoo gun down. He stood and checked to make sure no one could see him but Bellamy before turning around and unzipping his jeans, shoving them and his boxers down far enough for Bellamy to see his tattoo. He hadn't been lying. Right there, in all it's glory, was a full color, perfect rendering of Spongebob on his ass. "College was fun," was what he gave Bellamy in way of explanation.

"I'll bet," Bellamy mumbled, blatantly staring.

"You staring at my ass?"

"A bit, yeah. That a problem?"

"Not really," Murphy laughed and pulled up his pants, turning around and settling back in. "Told you."

"It's very-" Bellamy cut off, not sure what to say. It was strange, but not entirely out of character. The more he thought about it the more it fit Murphy to have done something that stupid and have the moment permanently tattooed on him. Bellamy bet he didn't regret it a bit.

"I was a little bit drunk and I had just discovered tattooing as an art form and I went into this artist's shop and wasn't sure what to get so I decided to get Spongebob. On my ass. Drunk me isn't good at making life long decisions. But then again, neither is sober me, so," Murphy shrugged and turned the machine on again.

"So that was your first tattoo?"

"Third. Second professional one. I've got my name in really shaky writing on my side. My friend, Mbege, did it when I bought my first tattoo gun. I put his name on him, so we've both got matching shitty tattoos. My first professional one was a quote by Shakespeare. 'Expectation is the root of all heartache.' It's just under my ribs. Not the most comfortable thing, but I wanted it and I got it and I've been getting tattoos ever since. I've almost ran out of space for them."

"I'd like to see them sometime. Your tattoos. I've only ever seen your sleeves," Bellamy told him. He'd love to be able to see Murphy's tattoos. He didn't doubt they'd be beautiful.

"You just want to see me with my clothes off," Murphy joked.

Bellamy laughed at that, causing Murphy to have to pull the needle back, taking a second to grin up at Bellamy and it took his breath away. Murphy was absolutely stunning and Bellamy was a little too far gone for him. "Maybe I do. Maybe that's what all of this is about. It's just one really elaborate attempt at getting in your pants."

"Well, you shouldn't try so hard. Just asking would do the trick."

Murphy went back to tattooing him and Bellamy fell silent, wondering if Murphy was serious about that. Bellamy wanted him to be, but he also didn't want to assume he was and it turn out to be just friendly joking. Maybe Murphy was like that with all his customers. There wasn't anything special about Bellamy that he knew of, so that was probably the case. Either way, Bellamy wasn't going to act on it. He'd rather not ruin what they currently had by making it weird.

"So, how's Ares doing?" Murphy asked, cutting into Bellamy's thoughts.

Bellamy smiled at the mention of his dog, "He's doing great. Adjusting better than me. He's made some friends at the dog park and he chews up any plastic he can find. I had to buy him a new bowl the other day, metal this time, because he chewed the other one to bits. Just completely dumped out the food and chewed up the dish." Even so, Bellamy hadn't been that angry with him. He'd cleaned up the mess and scolded him, but the kicked puppy look that dog had mastered had had him rubbing his belly within five minutes. Ares was one of the only things that kept Bellamy sane lately. Well, Ares and Murphy, but he didn't dare tell Murphy that. He wasn't sure how he'd react.

Murphy laughed, "Sounds like he and Puck would get along just fine. Puck's been stealing all the shiny objects he can find. I found his stash behind the couch yesterday. Somehow he'd managed to drag three forks and a CD behind there along with a mess of various rings and a couple parts from one of my new tattoo guns that I thought I'd lost. I've been looking for the parts for almost a weeks and I was just about to return it, too."

"Pets are jerks."

"They really are. Luckily Shakespeare is nicer. But he's old and lazy so that's probably why. He's too old to be mischievous anymore. He does take up a whole pillow, though."

"They're both rescues, right?" Bellamy asked, keeping up the conversation.

"Yeah. I found Puck in a box next to a dumpster and Shakes came from the shelter here in town. I read his name on his paper and I knew he had to come home with me. They make my apartment less lonely," Murphy said, wiping away ink from Bellamy's arm.

It was silent for a while, the only sound coming from the tattoo gun as Murphy finished the boots. He waited until he started coloring the flowers, the green of their leaves bright against Bellamy's skin, contrasting with the grays and blacks of the rest of the tattoo, before speaking, prying a bit more into Bellamy's past, but knowing Bellamy wouldn't be angry with him for it. He'd heard plenty of Bellamy's war stories by now. "So, Maya was your friend? What happened?"

Bellamy hesitated a second before telling him. He didn't care much for telling war stories, and he knew Murphy didn't care for them, either, if his strong anti-war views meant anything, but he always asked and Bellamy couldn't deny telling him made him feel a little better. Talking to someone helped, and Murphy was always listening. Maybe that was why Bellamy liked him so much.

"Roadside bomb. First one flipped the Humvee, second blast came after we'd gotten out, she was asking if I was okay and if I was hurt and then the blast went off. She was right next to it when it blew and she was just gone. Not even a body in her casket, just gone." It wasn't that interesting of a story, most deaths weren't, Bellamy had come to realize, but Murphy listened.

"She sounds like she was pretty badass," Murphy told him, referencing what Bellamy had told him earlier.

Bellamy smiled and nodded, agreeing, because she was, she really was. "I was lucky. She was the only friend I lost. I mean, I lost plenty of people, but none that I was that close to." He'd tried not to get too close to them after that. He'd learned being close just made it hurt worse when they were gone. Still, there had been a few who had stubbornly refused to let him keep them at arms length, and he still kept in touch with them from time to time. "Even Ares survived it all. He's the reason most of us did. I just wish I'd have had him with Maya, maybe things would have been different. He got skittish, though, sometime into my third tour and he started acting out. I waited to report it until the tour was over because I didn't know what would happen to him if he was taken from me, but it was only three weeks. Turns out he's got PTSD, too."

"Didn't know dogs could get PTSD," Murphy commented, letting Bellamy know he was listening as he traced lines and colored in the last of the flowers.

"Neither did I. Nearly broke my heart when I found out. I adopted him and we were both honorably discharged together. Now he's doing better. Still hates thunderstorms and loud noises and gets skittish around some people but he's doing better. It's nice having him around, I don't know where I'd be without him."

"He helps you, then?"

"Keeps me sane most days," Bellamy affirmed, watching Murphy work.

"Remind me to thank him, if I ever get to meet him." Murphy gave Bellamy a smile that made his heart skip and set his machine down. He grabbed a damp paper towel and wiped away the stray ink on Bellamy's arm before throwing it away and leaning back and letting out a breath. "It's finished."

Bellamy stood up and walked around the chair to the mirror so he could admire it. It looked amazing, Murphy had been so careful with all the little details, the rifle looked exactly like the ones they'd used. He couldn't imagine anything that could have made it looked better. "Thank you."

"The view of your ass is thanks enough," Murphy shrugged, cleaning up his work station.

Bellamy laughed and did his best to keep from blushing as he sat back down so Murphy could finish it up.

Murphy popped the top of his bottle of healing ointment and began rubbing it on Bellamy's skin. Bellamy enjoyed the feeling of Murphy's fingers on his skin as much as he enjoyed the feeling of the tattoo gun and he felt himself relax against the leather of the chair.

"So, what do you think I should get next? Any ideas?" He asked, looking over at Murphy.

"You haven't even let this one heal and now you want something else? You're going to run out of skin soon at this rate." It was a joke, but Bellamy was worried he was right. Once he ran out of skin he'd have no excuse to see Murphy anymore.

"Well, then I'll just get you to tattoo my face," Bellamy reasoned.

"And ruin something that pretty? Not a chance. I'm pretty sure that would be a criminal offense," Murphy smirked at him, teasing as he applied dressing to Bellamy's tattoo. "I take it you know how to take care of this?"

"Leave the dressing on for a few days, keep it clean after removing it, apply lotion four time a day until it starts peeling. I know," Bellamy nodded.

"Good," Murphy told him as he finished up. "I might have some ideas for what you could get next if you want to wait here."

Bellamy nodded and stood to stretch before putting his shirt back on as Murphy walked off. Again, he wondered if Murphy's flirting was serious or if he was like that with everybody. He could always ask Emori, but that would mean admitting to someone that he liked Murphy as more than just a friend and artist. There was always the chance she'd tell Murphy he liked him and that could end horribly. Or wonderfully, but Bellamy was more worried about the horribly part. Still, he wanted Murphy's flirting to be serious. He could always ask him, what was life without a little risk? Worst case scenario he had to find a new tattoo artist. Which, okay, Bellamy really didn't want to have to find a new artist, he loved Murphy's work, but he wanted to take a chance. He wanted Murphy and he couldn't have him if he never asked.

Before he could make a decision about whether or not to ask him out, Murphy came back with a sketchbook in his arms. He held it out to Bellamy, who took it gingerly, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to look at it even though it was Murphy who handed it to him. He opened it, glancing at Murphy who rolled his eyes and motioned for him to hurry up already, before crossing his arms and watching Bellamy.

It was filled with sketches Murphy had done, some of buildings, places, some of tattoo ideas and Bellamy took his time looking at each one, unable to keep the awe off his face. When he reached the fifth page Murphy pointed to a drawing of a tattoo, "You mentioned you liked mythology and you were a soldier so I drew that one for you. It's just Ares' shield and spear and some purple around it, it's really simple, not my best work but-"

"You drew this for me?" Bellamy was awestruck. Murphy had drawn something for him, specifically for him, without Bellamy asking him to.

"I drew a lot of things for you. You seemed to really like my art and you basically told me I could tattoo anything on you and I may have used you for inspiration a couple of times."

Bellamy wasn't sure what to say. He was touched by it and astounded because he didn't think there was much inspiration to be found from someone like him but as he flipped the pages full of warriors and weapons and even one of a German Sheppard in a bullet proof vest he assumed was Murphy's take on Ares, he found himself seeing what Murphy saw and it made Bellamy want to kiss him more than ever, but he restrained himself as he flipped through the pages, running his fingers over the lines and marveling at over the sketches Murphy had done before coming to a page that made him stop. "Is this me?"

"Shit. I forgot that was in there, honestly. I'm sorry. You came in and you were pretty and I really liked you and you just kept coming in and eventually I kinda memorized what you looked like and I'm just really sorry. It's creepy, I'm sorry." Murphy rambled on.

Bellamy just stared at the page, seeing himself through Murphy's eyes and he couldn't explain it but somehow he looked softer, gentler. His freckles and his eyes, the exact shade of warm brown with golden flecks he saw in the mirror each morning. It was a perfect copy of him, but without the worry lines and the worn, haggard look he found himself wearing often. Instead he was smiling and honestly, Bellamy was floored by it, because Murphy liked him enough to sketch him and he'd made him look so kind. Was that how Murphy saw him?

It took him a moment to notice Murphy's rambling, but when he did he smiled and set the sketchbook down in the chair, deciding to that since Murphy had shown him his private work, he may as well take a chance, too. It might end up being a stupid, foolish, horrible mistake, but he took a deep breath and steeled his nerves, taking a step towards Murphy, crossing the space between them and reaching out, taking Murphy's face in his hand, Murphy's rambling dying on his lips.

Bellamy leaned in, watching for any sign of rejection from Murphy but when none came he pressed their lips together, gently kissing Murphy. Within seconds Murphy's hands were on him, pulling Bellamy against him, kissing back with such a force that Bellamy was swept away by it. The kiss didn't stay gentle for long and Bellamy slid his hand to the back of Murphy's neck, tangling it in his hair and pulling gently, Murphy biting his lip in return. Murphy opened his mouth to let Bellamy deepen the kiss, his tongue brushing against Bellamy's. Their teeth clacked together but Bellamy didn't care. He'd wanted this for so long, since he'd first saw Murphy, and now he was getting to and it was so much better than anything he had imagined.

When they finally broke away, Murphy smiled at him. Once he'd caught his breath he asked, "What was that for? Not that I'm complaining."

"You wouldn't shut up," Bellamy reasoned, resting his forehead against Murphy's.

"You could have just told me to."

"Where's the fun in that?"

"So, I guess this means I'll be seeing you for more than just tattoos, then?" Murphy asked, sounding hopeful.

"If you want to." Bellamy had been hoping to find an excuse to see Murphy for something other than a tattoo for quite some time now, so he wasn't going to say no.

"I'd be disappointed if I couldn't."

"You want to go out sometime?" Bellamy asked, finding that it was much easier to ask now that he knew Murphy's flirting had been serious.

"Yeah. I've been trying to get you to ask me out for about four months now, so, yeah."

"How about Saturday, then? We could take Ares to the dog park and get lunch after?" He wasn't sure if Murphy had meant something like drinks or dinner, but he'd mentioned wanting to meet Ares and Bellamy figured it was a good time for them both to meet each other, the two that kept him sane.

Murphy smiled wide, "I'd like that."

Bellamy returned the smile and let Murphy pull him back in for another kiss, wasting no time in deepening it. His hands found Bellamy's ass and Bellamy smiled into the kiss. They took their time, exploring each other's mouths, not even breaking away when Emori cleared her throat behind them and informed Murphy he had another client waiting. Normally Bellamy would feel at least a little weird after that but he'd wanted this for too long to care and it didn't seem like Murphy was particularly interested in stopping, either. He bit Bellamy's lip and swiped his tongue over it to sooth the pain before swirling his tongue around Bellamy's and drawing a quiet moan from him.

After breaking apart the second time, Bellamy joked, "Do that again and we'll end up making good use of your chair."

Murphy laughed and shrugged, "I wouldn't mind too much, but my customers might."

"Fuck them."

"Or you could fuck me."

"I'd love to."

"Sadly, I think we're supposed to wait at least until the third date, some kind of rule or something. Wouldn't want you getting the wrong impression of me," Murphy teased as Bellamy ran his thumb over the skin above Murphy's waistband. He wouldn't mind, really, but he had customers and a client that was already here, and Emori would kill him if he canceled just to fuck Bellamy in the studio upstairs, which was beginning to seem less and less threatening the more Bellamy smiled at him.

"I never took you as one who cared about rules or reputations," Bellamy told him, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth.

Murphy smirked and leaned in, muttering a quick, "I don't," before capturing Bellamy's lips again, pressing himself up against him.

Bellamy grinned into the kiss, opening his mouth and letting Murphy do as he pleased, only pulling away when Emori shouted for them to get a fucking room.

Murphy pulled out a Sharpie from his back pocket and scribbled his number on Bellamy's hand, "Text me your address, okay?"

Bellamy nodded but he hesitated before leaving, "Goodbye kiss?"

"Needy, aren't you?" Murphy joked, already reaching up to pull Bellamy down.

"Absolutely," Bellamy admitted as Murphy pulled him into another kiss. The feeling of kissing Murphy was on par with getting a tattoo and he never wanted to stop. He was just glad there would be more to come of both.


End file.
